


call me up like you want your best friend

by frankoceansmoonriver



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankoceansmoonriver/pseuds/frankoceansmoonriver
Summary: “Are you just here to drink all my wine?” Jaskier asks with a raised brow. “Is that any way to treat your very best friend in the whole wide world?”It was an old joke, one started ten years ago at least.“We’re not friends,” Geralt says, then laughs, like he can’t even get the three words out, the untruenss of them proving to be too much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 142





	call me up like you want your best friend

**Author's Note:**

> song title from "boyfriend" by tegan and sara 
> 
> this work is more book based but tv show is also there as well.  
> this is just a fic about how they're best friends... :')

The book of poetry was almost finished. Imperative word there being  _ almost.  _ It has been  _ almost  _ finished for weeks now. Jaskier thought he was slowly sinking into madness. He puts ink to the page for the fifth time this evening. He had perhaps three stanzas to go, and yet. Nothing. Empty. 

The quill hovers an inch above the page. Jaskier wills his hand not to shake. 

“Oh for fuck sake!” He spits at the walls of his study. He sighs and puts the quill back in the ink. No use holding it over the page as if the act itself will make the words come. “Maybe I just need to get laid.” 

But Jaskier had just gotten laid that morning. He’d found a lovely woman in the marketplace selling strawberries that had seen him and had immediately started batting her eyelashes. She was a little young and very well endowed. She had been a nice distraction, a very nice start to the day. 

Now he longs for distraction again, of any kind really. What he needs to do is focus but focusing hasn’t helped any over the course of the last hour. Why start now?

He stands up at his desk, and begins to putz around the study. He almost decides to call it a night and simply fall into his sleeping quarters. The idea of pulling the sheets over his head and forgetting the book entirely is very tempting. But that’s  _ boring  _ and it’s still rather early. 

He could just leave. He could go into town, grab a few drinks, find a willing partner for the evening. He could go perform. He hasn’t been invited to perform anywhere but that was because he has been denying requests, insisting he needs to focus on the writing. But, normally if he just showed up somewhere and began playing a crowd would form easily. His reputation preceded him, as damn well it should. 

But performing is just more work. He hardly knows what he wants. He goes to the bookshelf. He looks at his classics, skimming and then dropping the books with loud and definitive thuds at his feet. He underlines a few passages, feels manic, and then drops down onto the rug in the middle of the room. The rug is soft. He paid a lot of coin for this rug. He might just curl up on the rug and sleep. 

Jaskier looks up and across the room, eyes wandering, searching for nothing in particular. It’s at this angle, from down on the floor, that he spies his distraction for the evening. 

It’s a bottle of red wine, gifted to him by a fellow professor. Jaskier thinks that professor had been trying to seduce him, and if the timing had been better, he probably would have gone to bed with the man, but the Baroness had sent word for him that week, so he had never gotten to find out what that fellow gentleman and scholar had tasted like. He’d also never gotten to taste the wine. 

“ _ Perfect, _ ” Jaskier breathes in relief and stands, making his way towards the bottle. 

He stretches onto his tip toes and takes the bottle down from the shelf. He doesn’t bother to read the label. He spins around, trying to recall where he left his bottle opener. It’s on his desk. And should he bother with a glass? Probably. He still has some dignity, albeit a very small amount. 

“Where in all of the Continent are those glasses?” Jaskier mutters. Ah, near the philosophy books. He uncorks the wine, not really having the patience for letting it breathe at this point in his evening, and pours. He swirls the wine in the glass, takes a sip, and puts a hand to his chest. It’s delicious. And clearly expensive. It’s a shame he never fucked the man who gifted him the wine. If he was willing to purchase such delicacies for Jaskier, there was no telling how lovely he would have been in the sack. 

Jaskier sets the filled glass and the bottle down on his desk. He sits down again, staring at the half finished poem. Now he’s found some inspiration. Now he can proceed. 

Only an hour passes and Jaskier finds he has drunk a third of a rather large bottle of red wine all on his lonesome and has scribbled down very few options in a nearby notepad. Nothing substantial. Nothing worthy of the conclusion of the last poem in his book. 

He’s about to polish off his current glass and blow out the candle, call it an evening, when there is a soft rap on his door. 

Jaskier looks up from his inane scribblings, thinking it must be one of the attendants, but instead Jaskier is surprised to find that it is a very old friend.  _ Well _ . He says friend. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cries, giddy and already laughing at the sight of his witcher. He’s clearly had too much to drink. “What in Melitele’s name are you doing here?” 

“I was passing through,” Geralt says, tilting his head, his smile already warm. Oh, what a lovely creature he is. That tightening in Jaskier’s chest rears its head, the sensation that always happens when he looks at Geralt. He doesn’t like to think about it too often, could lead somewhere dangerous. 

“This is an absolute delight that you should be passing through this evening. You know I am always happy to see you.”

“Too happy, I think,” Geralt says, but he’s still smiling good naturedly. “What have you been getting up to this evening?” Geralt asks, eyeing the uncorked wine. 

“Been trying my very best to write, darling. It wasn’t coming very easily. So, hence, the liquid inspiration.” 

“Funny, here I was thinking you just wanted to get drunk by yourself.”

Jaskier huffs in mock offense. “How dare you, sir. All that I’m doing is for artistic purposes. You wouldn’t know anything about it, but sometimes the words just claw at you until you get them out just right, sometimes you feel as though you will go mad when the work consumes you. Why, haven’t you ever felt like that in the throes of battle Geralt?” 

Geralt rolls his eyes but smiles good naturedly. “Sure. Why not.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“Am I not?” Geralt asks, reaching for the bottle of wine. 

Of course the witcher doesn’t bother with a glass. He grasps the neck of the bottle and tosses it back. He drinks his fill and then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Gods Jask, that’s the expensive shit.”

Jaskier laughs. It has been months since he last saw Geralt. There had been the winter and the letters they sent each other, and then spring came and went with Jaskier preoccupied and Geralt not coming to snatch him away from Oxenfurt anyhow. They went on like that sometimes, avoiding each other not on purpose, but for an indulgence in passion instead. 

The main problem, of course, was that Jaskier was always missing Geralt. It bordered on embarrassing, though the bard would never admit it. 

“I am beloved to many, dear witcher. So men like to buy me the expensive shit, as you so elegantly put it.”

Geralt laughs. “So how many times did you sleep with him?”

“You’re unbelievable. I never slept with him. He gave me the bottle of wine simply for looking so pretty.” 

“Ah, that is something you do well,” Geralt replies, and finally becomes a civilized being, pouring the wine into a glass. 

“Are you just here to drink all my wine?” Jaskier asks with a raised brow. “Is that any way to treat your very best friend in the whole wide world?”

It was an old joke, one started ten years ago at least. 

“We’re not friends,” Geralt says, then laughs, like he can’t even get the three words out, the untruenss of them proving to be too much. 

Jaskier laughs too. “Well dear, I fear we are going to run out of spirits soon now that there are two of us.”

“Not to worry,” Geralt says. “I know how to pull my own weight.” 

Geralt pulls a flask out of his pack. Jaskier already knows it’s filled with vodka. There’s nothing else the witcher would bother to pack for the road. 

“Oh, you’re terrible. I’m going to be disgustingly hung over. None of your powers contain the ability to take away hangovers do they?” 

“If I did have that power I wouldn’t use it on you,” Geralt says, putting the flask to his lips. His lips are full and gorgeous. Sure, Jaskier is drunk, but he would have had the thought sober. He loves his witcher so dearly, and he has long suffered for it. 

Geralt passes the flask over, smiling like he fucking  _ knows.  _

“Thank you darling. I need this,” Jaskier says, half to Geralt half to himself, and then throws back the vodka, doing his best not to gag at the taste. 

“Do you? You’re drunk already.”

“A bit, yes. Is that a problem, Mister Witcher?”

Geralt laughs, a low rumble in his chest. Jaskier loves and loathes the sound in the same breath. 

“No Jask. Not a problem.”

Jaskier throws his head back and groans. “You can’t keep calling me that, it’s indecent!”

“What, ‘Jask’? I call you that all the time,” Geralt says, confused, drinking his wine. His hands are too big for the glass. He’s so pretty. What with his strong jaw, intense eyes, and pouty mouth. The things that mouth can do. Jaskier clears his throat. 

“I know you do. It must stop. It’s not fair.”

“What are you on about?”

“When you call me that, it’s just lovely, it’s so endearing, makes my little poet’s heart speed up. Can’t help it. Especially when you say it all deep and low like that. It’s obscene really.”

“You must really be drunk, to be flirting with me so openly.”

“Oh please, I’m almost always flirting with you. You just never notice because you’re clueless.”

“I’m not clueless. I flirt back, you’re the one who hasn’t been noticing.”

Jaskier grips his wine glass and gapes like a fish. He points a finger at Geralt, still trying to find all of his words. “You, you...you witcher! Are you serious or are you just taking advantage of a drunk bard?”

“Can’t it be both?” Geralt smirks, cunning and handsome. Jaskier is caught somewhere between incredibly turned on and feeling like he’s melting into the floor. 

“Naughty witcher,” Jaskier teases, once he reigns in the warm melty feeling. He clears his throat. “But really, are you being serious or are you just trying to see how far you can go? Because if it’s just a game that’s a bit cruel. You know I’m not one to back down, I’ll be the last one to cry mercy.” 

“Is that what you’d do in bed, cry out for mercy?”

Jaskier throws his head back and laughs. “As if you’re capable of such a thing! We both know you’re a big softie, just want someone to take care of you. When you fuck men you probably just lie back and think of which herbs you need for your potions.” 

He means it all as a joke, still feeling too hesitant to be sincere. But Geralt’s cheeks go a shade pinker, and Jaskier quirks an eyebrow at the sight. 

“How did you know? You been spying on me again?” 

Jaskier nearly spits his wine out. He swallows it down with a grimace, waving his finger in Geralt’s face. “That was one time, totally not on purpose.”

“You would have stayed to watch if the healer hadn’t pulled you away,” Geralt says, getting cockier now, referring to the incident when Jaskier had come across Geralt and Yennefer clawing at each other on the floor, after the djinn. 

Jaskier holds up his palms in surrender. “I’m only human.” 

“To answer your question, I only start thinking about my potions if the man fucking me isn’t doing a very good job.”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to go red. “Alright Geralt, are we doing this or not, because you’ve gotten me very worked up.”

“I’m surprised, I thought you might be too drunk to get it up.”

“Ha. Ha,” Jaskier mocks. He takes a deep breath, leans over his desk, and climbs onto it until he’s on all fours, face mere inches from Geralt’s. He thinks one of his palms might have ink bleeding into it. He doesn’t care. “So, you going to kiss me or not?” 

“Hmm. You’re so pretty, Jask,” Geralt says, reaches up to cup the back of Jaskier’s head, and then kisses him in full. 

Jaskier immediately moans into the kiss. He’s usually a bit more put together when engaging in a new romantic entanglement, but it’s Geralt, so there’s no sense of decency. Jaskier lifts one hand off the edge of the desk and wraps it into Geralt’s hair. It’s quite possible he’s going to lose balance, tip over, and fall head first into Geralt’s lap, but he supposes that is rather the point. 

“Have you always thought I was pretty, or are you just saying that now in hopes that I’ll suck you off?”

“I’m rather hoping you’ll have your way with me,” Geralt says, voice still teasing, and then his voice goes low and soft. “I’d let you do anything you like.” 

“Lucky me,” Jaskier whispers, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheek, then against his jaw, and another on his chin. Jaskier suddenly feels scraped raw. “Is it because I’m your very best friend, that you trust me with your desires?” 

“Yes,” Geral replies, running his hand down Jaskier’s back. He says the word thickly, like he is just as affected as Jaskier is. 

“Are we going to thoroughly ruin our friendship, Geralt?” Jaskier can’t help but ask the question. 

“I fear we already have.”

Jaskier laughs. “Good. I want to rip it to shreds, really.” He presses a kiss against Geralt’s neck. He realizes this position on the desk is not helpful at this point, he’s too drunk to pull it off any longer. He pulls back, switches to a sitting position, and lets his legs dangle off the desk, so that his hips are just level with Geralt’s face. In all of his reassembling of limbs, Jaskier kicks the bottle of wine off the table. It was nearly empty anyway, and didn't shatter on the way down by sheer luck. 

Geralt grasps him by the hips roughly. Jaskier hopes it will bruise. “Is this your way of hinting to me that you want me to suck your cock?”

Jaskier well and truly giggles. “No, though you may if you want to. No, this was me hinting that you should pick me up and carry me to the bed.”

“In that case,” Geralt says, tilting his head, and digs his fingers into Jaskier’s hips, lifting him off the desk. Jaskier yelps, but Geralt only pulls him closer, then digs his fingers into the meat of Jaskier’s arse, making the bard hide his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, laughing the entire time, blushing fiercely. Jaskier tries to come up with some clever retort but alcohol slows the mind and he’s possibly more turned on than he’s been in his entire life. 

Geralt starts walking, Jaskier still shocked at the turn of events. He’s being carried to his bedroom by a very strong and beautiful witcher. He must be having some sort of wet dream. 

Geralt drops Jaskier onto his bed. He bounces a little, and downright cackles when he nearly falls off the bed. “Come here, you. I don’t want to stop touching you for a single moment.” 

Geralt climbs onto the bed, on top of Jaskier. He’s smiling as he crawls over Jaskier’s body and leans down, bending to kiss at Jaskier’s neck. 

Jaskier moans. He bruises so easily. Geralt will most certainly leave a mark. 

“Geralt?” 

Geralt stops immediately. His eyes meet Jaskiers. “Should I stop?”

“No, gods no. I just...what do you want? I just fear, well, to be direct darling, I don’t know that I’m going to last very long.”

“I knew you had too much to drink,” Geralt teases, but then his mouth goes soft and he tilts his head again. “I’m not far behind you. I…”

Geralt seems to lose his nerve. Jaskier reaches for his hip, pulling him closer, and then feels the bulge in the witcher’s trousers. He’s  _ big.  _ Of course he is. Oh gods above. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Geralt’s mouth does something funny. His brows pull together. “Just want you,” Geralt finally lands on, and Jaskier accepts the statement, kissing the frown from his face. 

“No need to be self conscious, I want you just as badly. Can I touch you?” 

Geralt nods, and then Jaskier pushes up, pushing Geralt onto his back. He had been teasing, but Geralt had confirmed. Geralt needs so badly to be taken care of. It’s all Jaskier wants to do. Take care of his witcher. 

Jaskier unties Geralt’s trousers, and releases his cock. Jaskier lets out a whimper just seeing it. “Gods you’re. Hm.”

“What is it?” 

“You’re just gorgeous is all, and ridiculously well endowed.” Jaskier laughs at himself, and then begins to stroke Geralt in earnest. 

Geralt lets out a wanton groan, and Jaskier bites his lip so hard it nearly bleeds in an attempt to not come in his trousers. 

“Let me,” Geralt whispers, reaching down, down, down farther into Jaskier’s pants. Jaskier springs free of his trousers, and Geralt touches him, gentle and careful. “Let me,” he repeats, and then Geralt takes the both of them in one large, gorgeous hand. 

Jaskier whimpers, and goes back to kissing his witcher. “Darling...darling, you are so  _ fucking  _ good,” Jaskier whispers, bucking into Geralt’s fist. 

They cling to each other, breathing heavy, and Jaskier cannot believe his luck. He’s too drunk, the sensation a bit muted, and Geralt comes first, spilling between them. He says Jaskier’s name as his hips buck, the aftershocks still coursing through him. It’s so nice to hear his name echoed on Geralt’s lips. He’d die a happy man now, really and truly. 

Geralt wastes no time. He pants, and then rolls Jaskier over onto his back, and immediately begins to kiss down Jaskier’s body, until he suddenly takes Jaskier’s cock into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier all but shouts. 

This. This doesn’t take long. Jaskier takes one look at Geralt’s mouth around his cock and all but dies on the spot. It’s just one twirl of Geralt’s tongue, his cheeks hollowed out, and Jaskier is spilling down the witcher’s throat. 

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s hip bone, in a shockingly tender display. He pulls Geralt up to meet him, to kiss his own seed from Geralt’s lips. 

“I’m usually much better, I swear on my own bardic career. You have too much of an affect on me. The wine didn’t help.”

“What are you on about? I enjoyed you very much.” 

Jaskier scoffs. “Well, good.” Geralt’s hand rests on his stomach, and Jaskier takes it into his own. “But I can do much, much better.” 

“You should be able to, if the rumors are true,” Geralt says, smiling wickedly. 

“So, friendship thoroughly ruined?” 

“Definitely. Can hardly look at you the same now that I’ve had your cock in my mouth.” 

“And do you regret it?” Jaskier tries to keep his tone light. 

“Not at all. I think we still might be best friends, with an added bonus.”

Jaskier laughs lightly but still his heart swells in an almost painful way. “We will always be best friends.” He kisses Geralt’s knuckles. “You have known me my whole life, my dear witcher. You will always be my best friend.” 


End file.
